Medieval II - In Shadows of Kings

by Kevin Ashman

  ‘Nothing keeping you down here,’ said Spider. ‘Feel free to go topside with your stuff whenever you likes.’

  ‘No,’ sighed Geraint. ‘I have lasted this long, I may as well stay for the rest of the journey and besides, I have become attached to the animals if truth be told.’

  ‘They are better than most men I know’ said Spider. ‘So, come on, there’s work to do.’

  For the next few hours they cleaned the hold, carrying buckets of horse shit and sodden straw up to the deck and throwing them overboard. Next they walked each horse around the hold many times before brushing and rubbing them down with a hessian glove. Finally they hung up nets of hay between each horse and topped up the buckets with fresh water.

  ‘Those animals get treated better than the crew,’ growled a voice.

  Geraint looked over and saw the ship’s carpenter standing in the gloom. The man was aggressive and always in trouble but his essential skills meant he got away with things that would have got other men flogged.

  ‘That’s because they are,’ said Spider.

  ‘How come they get full buckets when we are rationed to two tankards a day?’

  ‘They get just enough as they need,’ said Spider, ‘and we collect the rainwater in the empty barrels.’

  ‘I say kill one of them and let the men have a feast,’ said the carpenter. ‘I am fed up with broth and dried lamb.’

  Spider bent over and picked up one of the pitchforks used to handle the hay. Before Geraint could stop him, he ran toward the carpenter and forced him back against the wall with one of the two points against his chest.

  ‘Spider stop,’ shouted Geraint.

  ‘You listen to me,’ hissed Spider to the carpenter. ‘You even think about coming anywhere near my beasts and I will cut your throat as you speak, do you understand?’

  ‘Relax old man,’ said the carpenter, ‘it was a joke. And anyway, it’s only a matter of time before the Captain see’s sense and gives the men a break. All this time at sea is not natural and the men need something to take their minds off it. You’ll see, you mad old man. A couple more weeks and it’ll be horse steaks all round.’

  ‘No,’ shouted Spider and made to push the pitchfork into the carpenter’s chest but Geraint pulled him away.

  ‘Get out,’ screamed Spider, ‘get out.’

  The carpenter laughed and walked up the ramp, all the while taunting the old man about tasty, juicy horse meat.

  ‘Leave it,’ said Geraint quietly to Spider, ‘he is deliberately trying to upset you.’

  ‘One day, I will kill him,’ said Spider.

  ‘Come,’ said Geraint, ‘sit down. Such men are not worth countenance.’

  ‘If it wasn’t for his trade the Captain would not suffer him aboard,’ said Spider, ‘he is as poisonous as a snake.’

  Geraint poured a mug of water from his own ration.

  ‘Here,’ he said, ‘take a drink.’ He gave spider the mug and sat alongside him.

  ‘Have you sailed these vessels long?’ asked Geraint eventually.

  ‘Not this one but many others,’ answered Spider. ‘I am known as being able to look after beasts when they are on the ships, see. It’s not natural for them and it takes a special skill to keep em calm.’

  ‘Then all this is nothing new to you?’

  ‘Nah, it’s how I earn a crust. I have lived half my life on cogs such as this and one day I expect I will go to my death on one.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘God made the sea for the fishes, not man. We just gets away with it but eventually, every ship sinks. It’s just the way it is.’

  ‘So why do you do it?’

  ‘I know no other way,’ said Spider, ‘and anyways, I do it for the beasts. As afraid as I gets, they are more scared than me.’

  ‘What do you make of this voyage?’

  ‘It’s not natural,’ said Spider. ‘I have forgotten how many voyages I have made through my life and twice I have sailed all the way around to the holy-land but nothing compares with what we are trying to do now.’

  ‘Do you think we are doomed to failure?’

  ‘Not if God is with us,’ said, Spider. ‘The ocean is bigger than any of us can imagine but with favourable winds we just might make landfall.’

  ‘But surely there is no land to the west. If there is, I have certainly not heard of it.’

  ‘Oh there is land alright,’ said Spider, ‘and it has been done before but not in our lifetime.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Geraint but before the man could answer the bell sounded up on deck.

  ‘Shit,’ cursed Geraint, ‘what now?’

  The two men walked up the ramp and out onto the deck where the rest of the men were gathering. Upon the forecastle two of the rowers stood alongside one of the men who had boarded at Caerleon. He had his hands bound before him and his face was creased in fear. Eventually the Captain climbed the ladder along with Tarian, the expedition leader. Logger stood alongside them.

  ‘Silence,’ shouted Logger.

  ‘Men of the Coronet,’ shouted the Captain, ‘we have come a long way together, further than most mariners sail in their entire lives. So far we have been fortunate for the weather has been as fair as we can have hoped and our estimates are that we are over halfway done. However, there is still a distance to go and discipline is essential if we are to set foot on solid ground again.’

  ‘I know your empty bellies ache,’ he continued, ‘and rest assured, I feel your hunger pangs for on this ship we are equal and no man gets more than his share, not even My Lord Tarian, however, when you boarded this ship, you agreed to certain rules, rules that mariners live by every day of their lives. Only by enforcing these rules do we have any hope of reaching our destination.’ He turned to stare at the shaking prisoner. ‘This man, however, sees himself as above his comrades and while our bellies ached from hunger, his ached from gluttony.’

  A murmur of anger rippled from the gathered men.

  ‘It came to my attention,’ continued the Captain, ‘that he had cut into a sack of dried meat in the hold and has been helping himself as he saw fit.’

  ‘Traitor,’ shouted a voice and the men joined in the condemnation.

  The Captain held up a hand and the noise dropped.

  ‘I made it perfectly clear at the start such action would not be tolerated but it grieves me to have my hand forced to make a point. It also worries me that he may not have acted alone though he swears there was no accomplice. Whatever the truth, I cannot ignore his crime and justice will be done.’

  He turned to the guards.

  ‘Seize him,’ he said.

  The two men grabbed hold of the prisoner.

  ‘You Sir, are a knave,’ said the Captain, ‘and don’t deserve to share breath with good men.’ He paused. ‘Your crime is grievous and I will not tolerate such brigandry amongst comrades.’

  ‘Forgive me, My Lord,’ begged the man, ‘I was starving. I didn’t take much, I swear. I will work twice as hard to pay my debt. Please, give me a chance.’

  ‘Logger,’ said the Captain, ‘how much food has gone?’

  ‘Half a bag, My Lord.’

  ‘And how long would a man last on those rations.’

  ‘Four weeks or so.’

  ‘Twenty eight days’ worth of food,’ said the Captain and turned to face the captive again. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘which twenty eight men should go without food tomorrow because of your treachery. Select them if you will, or better still, select one man to starve to death over the next month as the food stocks catch up.’

  ‘I don’t understand…’ said the man.

  ‘Look at your crewmates,’ snapped the Captain. ‘You were brave enough to steal the food, yet I don’t believe you did so without the knowledge of others. Point out your conspirators.’

  ‘My Lord…’

  ‘Do it,’ screamed Logger and the two guards dragged him to the rail above the deck.

  The men looked up in
confusion at the man who held their lives in their hands.

  ‘But…’

  Logger cut him short by punching him in the face, knocking out two of his teeth.

  ‘Point them out,’ shouted Logger again.

  ‘Him,’ gasped the man, pointing down at a man he was known to be friendly with, John of Wye.

  ‘Come up here,’ ordered the Captain.

  ‘But I have done no wrong, My Lord,’ answered John but two more rowers stepped forward, forcing him to the foot of the ladder.

  ‘Get up there,’ growled one and John reluctantly climbed up to join the Captain in the forecastle.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ whimpered the first condemned man, his spittle oozing frothy red.

  ‘What have I ever done to you?’ growled John.

  ‘I had no choice,’ sobbed the man, ‘I don’t want to die.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ said John, ‘but you chose your path. I have no such choice.’

  ‘John of Wye,’ said the Captain, ‘your comrade has accused you. Speak true before God. Did you share this man’s crime?’

  ‘I did not, I swear before Christ.’

  The Captain turned to the condemned man.

  ‘He says you are lying. Did he or did he not aid your crime.’

  ‘He told me to do it,’ sobbed the condemned man, ‘It wasn’t my fault. He threatened to hurt me.’

  ‘He speaks false,’ shouted John of Wye, ‘I told him not to do it. I warned him many times.’

  ‘Silence,’ shouted the Captain, ‘I have heard enough. Logger, deal with the thief.’

  Logger stepped forward and produced a knife as the gathered men gasped at the unfolding events.

  ‘No, please,’ begged the man. ‘I am sorry, don’t cut me.’

  ‘I have no intention of cutting you,’ said Logger quietly and placed the blade between the captive man’s hands to cut his binds.

  As the rope fell to the deck the man looked over to the Captain with renewed hope.

  ‘Thank you, Captain,’ he said, ‘you won’t regret this I promise.’

  ‘You are right,’ said the Captain, ‘I won’t.’ He glanced at Logger and nodded almost imperceptibly.

  Without another word, Logger and the two guards dragged the captive to the deck rail before throwing him screaming to the water below. Many of the men below ran to catch sight of the condemned man, their combined weight causing the Cog to list.

  ‘Hold your ground,’ screamed Logger, ‘and listen to the Captain.’

  The shocked men returned to their places and stared up at the Captain who now gazed down at them. In the background the screams of the struggling man were rapidly receding, replaced by the groans of the rigging and creaks of the straining ship. Within minutes, only the sound of the rolling Cog could be heard and every man’s thoughts lay with the poor wretch now sinking beneath the waves of the ever hungry sea. Finally the Captain addressed them.

  ‘Waste no further thought for him,’ he said, ‘as he had no thought for you.’ He turned to face John of Wye.

  ‘You may or may not have been part of this brigandry,’ he said ‘but by virtue of a dying man’s accusation, you have been implicated. You will be issued no food for fourteen days, your share of what has been taken. If at that time you still live, you will be pardoned. Such is my justice.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Tarian stepping forward, ‘by your leave, Captain. I respect your authority on this vessel but I have a question for this man.’

  ‘Please, My Lord, feel free to proceed,’ answered the Captain.

  ‘John of Wye, I accept that we do not know the true extent of your involvement and indeed may be the recipient of a grave injustice by a man desperate to save his own skin, but I would ask you this. Did you or did you not try to stop him from undertaking this path?’

  ‘I did, My Lord, on several occasions.’

  Tarian stared at him coldly before answering.

  ‘Then by your own words you admit knowledge of his wrongdoings. You and you alone had the power to stop his crimes and by failing to do so, you are just as guilty as he, if not more so. You sat back and stayed silent whilst knowing others would go hungry. You are no innocent, John of Wye, you are guilty by association.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘John of Wye,’ shouted Tarian, ‘we made it clear at the beginning we would countenance no such activity. Your actions condemn you and by doing so, your fate is sealed. As you shared your comrade’s crime, you will share his fate. Captain, this man is no good to me and a traitor to his comrades. I have no more use of him on this quest and submit him to your jurisdiction. Deal with him as you will.’

  ‘Guards seize him,’ shouted the Captain. ‘Logger, send him the way of all such traitors.’

  ‘My Lord, please, don’t do this,’ shouted John but before he could say any more the guards grabbed him and dragged him to the rail. Within seconds, he too plunged to the sea below and once again the crew were forced to listen to a man’s dying screams.

  ‘Let this be a reminder to all,’ shouted Tarian. ‘The guilt lies not only on the hands that do the deed but on the hands of those who allow it to happen. This journey will be hard enough to complete as it is but if we cheat on each other, then we have no chance. I need us all working together as comrades. If one thirsts, we all thirst. Each man eats the same as the next and each man will die to protect the brother alongside him. If we can reach that state, then we will have a chance.’

  ‘My Lord,’ shouted a voice. ‘We support your leadership and accept your justice but beg a question.’

  ‘Continue.’

  ‘We are two months in with no sign of land. It is being said that there will be no landfall and any talk of this new world is but hearsay. Surely we should turn back, if only to seek bigger ships and more stores.’

  Tarian turned to the Captain.

  ‘Perhaps you can answer this,’ he said.

  ‘There can be no turning back,’ said the Captain. ‘We have stores enough for three weeks only and the journey back is two months. We can only go forward or die of thirst in the middle of this cursed ocean. The wind is still favourable and with God’s will, we can yet make it. Tighten your belts and double your prayers. We are not lost yet and I swear I will do everything in my power to set your feet on solid ground once more.’

  ‘Does that answer your question?’ asked Tarian.

  The gathered men mumbled in acceptance but were quietly shocked at the finality of the Captain’s explanation. The only way was forward and live or die, there was no way back.

  ----

  Chapter Seven

  Brycheniog

  1276

  ‘Riders are approaching,’ shouted the page running toward the house. All eyes turned to see the column of armed men riding across the field as one of the servants ran in to forewarn the lady of the manor. Five minutes later, a handful of workers lined up in the courtyard waiting to receive the horses of the expected guests. To the fore was Master Reynolds, the stockman who had taken on extra responsibilities since the Lord of the house, Sir Robert Cadwallader had marched on Crusade and ultimately lost his.

  ‘Good day, my Lord,’ said Reynolds as the horses pulled up in a cloud of steam.

  ‘Greetings,’ said the lead rider, pulling back the chainmail coif from his sweating head. ‘I am Owen Cadwallader, brother of the deceased Lord of this manor. We are expected, I believe?’

  ‘Indeed you are, My Lord and all preparations are in place. You will be accommodated in the house as will your seconds. Your men will be barracked amongst the outbuildings. They are dry and warm so comfort will not be wanting.’

  ‘It will suffice,’ said the rider, ‘though I will need an extra room within the manor for my guest, Sir Gerald of Essex.’ He indicated the man next to him who stared down at the stockman without acknowledgement. ‘He will be treated as an honoured guest and denied no privilege. Is that clear?’

  ‘Of course, My Lord,’ said Reynolds, ‘I will see to it immediately.’<
br />
  ‘So, how fares my brother’s wife? I hear she is frail.’

  ‘She is indeed weak but rallies with the warmth of each sunrise. Once you are settled she will receive you in the hall.’

  ‘Good’ said the man. ‘On the morrow, I would also visit my brother’s grave. Where has he been interred?’

  ‘In the abbey of Brycheniog, as befits a man of his stature.’

  ‘That is satisfactory,’ said Cadwallader and slipped from the saddle, as did Sir Gerald. A page ran forward to take the reins but was cuffed away by the second Knight.

  ‘Keep your station, boy,’ snapped Gerald, ‘my steed will be cared for by my own Squire.’

  An older boy rode forward and took the reins of the charger before leading the party through into the courtyard. Once gone, Cadwallader removed his riding gauntlets and turned to Reynolds.

  ‘Show us to our quarters,’ he said, ‘and inform the Lady Elisabeth we are here.’

  ‘Of course, My Lord,’ said Reynolds and though he was seething at the unnecessary treatment of the young page, he knew better than to express such emotion, ‘please follow me.’

  Cadwallader and twelve other Knights were led into the manor house and shown to the guest wing. Water and towels were provided to wash away the dust of the road and a message sent that a meal was to be served in their honour.

  An hour later they assembled in the hall where seats were arranged around two long tables. At the far end, a large solid chair emblazoned with the coat of arms of the Cadwalladers was flanked by two lesser chairs. The Knights sat talking quietly and sipping ale as they waited for their host to arrive. Finally the doors opened and three women walked into the room.

  The first to enter was Lady Elisabeth, widow of Robert Cadwallader. Her head was covered with a simple linen wimple though her long scarlet dress had been carefully selected to demonstrate wealth and power for though she was now indeed a widow, it was important to always present an image of strength and assuredness in meetings such as these. Her poise was elegant and though she was still relatively young at thirty two, her eyes peered through a gaunt face, ravaged by illness.

  Elisabeth was followed in by her two daughters, one of thirteen years and the other two years older. Both girls kept their eyes lowered as they entered and took their place alongside their mother at the head of the table. All the Knights stood until the ladies were seated and then waited as Owen started the formalities.